


Make the Choice

by Sporadic_Writer



Series: Clothes Make the Man [2]
Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-18
Updated: 2017-02-18
Packaged: 2018-09-25 10:58:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,498
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9816899
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sporadic_Writer/pseuds/Sporadic_Writer
Summary: A small part of Yuuri's mind always mulled unhappily over the vague worry that he would never find someone and never get the chance to find love and make a full life the way that his parents had together.





	

**A/N:** I wrote a much shorter, more lighthearted story titled "The Date Night Shirt" and published it about a week (?) ago, and this story is longer, more introspective (for Yuuri), and follows a different choice that Yuuri makes regarding the shirt.  You don't have to read "The Date Night Shirt" in order to understand this story.

 

Yuuri remembers walking through the grocery store with his mother as a toddler for the first time and being in awe of the myriad multi-colored boxes, cans, produce, and goods stacked on the shelves stretching towards the ceiling.

He had quietly followed his mother throughout the store, picking up a few items that they had found running low and being unable to wait for the usual weekly delivery from their suppliers.

Near the checkout, Yuuri's eyes caught on something that was just above his eye level, and he reached out to touch it before remembering that he shouldn't touch things without asking, just like the family day class teacher said.

His mother noticed his aborted hand motion and pulled one of the candy trinkets from the rack. She studied the plastic figurine of an ice skater on top of the light pink and blue striped box and put it on the belt with everything else.

Yuuri could only look at her with big worshipful eyes until they left the store, and his mother handed him the candy box. Wait a minute, Yuuri's nascent conscience reared its unfortunate head.

“Okaasan!” Yuuri cried. “But this is candy! Yumiko-sensei says that candy is not good for little boys and girls.”

His mother's lips twitched a little, and then she smiled fully down at Yuuri and said, “Well, you've been a very good boy this week, helping your nee-chan to sweep the floor. I think you deserve a treat. It's okay once in a while, and I think Yumiko-sensei would agree.”

Yuuri happily clutched his prize in a chubby fist, and the walk back home went by in a blink.

 

Even as an oblivious preteen, Yuuri knows something about the value of money, and he knows that the concert tickets his sister had bought, just for the two of them (their parents had approved but swamped with seasonal uptick in business had stayed behind) had been expensive.

The glow-in-the-dark sticks had cost money, the Takuya Kimura-emblazoned fan t-shirts had cost money, the food and drinks his sister had carried back from the crowded snack booth during intermission had cost money.

He couldn't and shouldn't ask his sister for more, not when he wondered if Mari had used her own savings from her summer jobs to fund their field trip away from Hasetsu.

He carefully put the plastic-wrapped CD back with its twins, nestled together with other Takuya Kimura merchandise like plushies, stationery, posters, and even cardboard cutouts. Yuuri had looked at every item with a child's greed but had restrained himself until he saw the CD with the compilation of Takuya's most popular hits, but what really warmed Yuuri's cheeks and widened his eyes was the large silvery medallion sticker on the CD that proclaimed a bonus: an interview that included Takuya's own commentary on his favorite song, “Hajimete no Chu.”

“What have you been staring at for so long?” his sister asked directly after coming back from the bathroom and seeing his preoccupied look. Yuuri's shoulders hunched together in shock, and he startled from his internal calculations on how much money he had on him if he added together the random coins he had in one of his coat pockets and the couple of bills he had in his wallet. He might have enough to cover the price of the CD, but then he wouldn't be able to save up enough money to buy Mari the earring studs that she always glanced at in the window of the department store that lay in their path to the Ice Castle.

“It's nothing,” Yuuri blurted when he realized that his dazed expression and long silence was making his sister regard him with an amount of concern.

Mari looked at the CD that had mysteriously reappeared in his hand, and his subconscious had apparently decided to play traitor to his practical side. She tilted the CD case to get a better look at the cover. “Ah, an interview in a CD, huh? That's not very common; no wonder it's packaged to look so fancy.”

“Yeah, it does look good,” Yuuri admitted self-consciously, “but I don't need it; I have other CDs with his songs.”

Mari shrugged and nudged him to join the long line of customers. “But you want the interview, right? The price isn't so bad. 2700 yen won't break the bank. This CD must be a little bit on the old side.”

“But, oneesan,” Yuuri started to protest. 2700 yen was still 2700 yen, even if the price wasn't unreasonable.

His sister gave his shoulder an indulgent shake and at the same time hip-checked an overeager fan who thought to cut them in line. “You think I'd take my little brother to watch a music concert and not plan to buy him a souvenir? Go on now; if you're going to be a fan, be a fan.”

Laconic as she was, Yuuri never heard from Mari later if she regretted her encouraging words when his love for ice skating became hopelessly entwined with his growing admiration for Viktor, and his crush led him to hog the television even more whenever the skating competitions were broadcasted.

 

“Yuuri!” Yuuko beckoned him over to where she was standing in the bleachers area with Takeshi. He skated over to the mouth of the rink and put his guards on when he realized that Yuuko didn't just want a quick word.

Yuuko smiled brightly at him and turned Takeshi's laptop to show him the page that they had been browsing during their water break.

Yuuri's mouth dried abruptly as he came face to face with polished image after image of Viktor Nikiforov skating, dancing, laughing, walking, standing, playing with Makkachin, hugging his coach Yakov Feltsman, poking his rinkmates.

It didn't matter how many times he saw that face or watched that elegant figure; he still felt the heart palpitations start up.

“So, which one do you not have yet?” Yuuko asked curiously, and Yuuri's brain calmed down enough from the Viktor Nikiforov effect to realize that Yuuko and Takeshi had been browsing an online store that specialized in photos and posters.

Takeshi shook his head and wagged a finger at his girlfriend. “It would have been a surprise, but she didn't want to get you a copy of something you already had, and she wouldn't believe me when I said that you didn't have that one with him skating with a friend.”

Takeshi pointed towards the poster in question, and Yuuri pulled his eyeglasses from his sweatshirt pocket to get a better look even though he knew that he definitely didn't have that one.

Viktor was in the midst of skating, his body turned in a way that indicated he might have just finished a jump, and arms out, was flashing a brilliant smile. His fellow skater was on the periphery of the poster, but their body language mimicked Viktor's, and Yuuri breathlessly cast himself into their place (that was probably the point of the poster). He would give anything to skate with Viktor, to touch the same ice, to be face to face with the man who he had idolized for so long.

Yuuri's eyes drifted down the poster's product details page as he dreamily thought of Viktor holding out a hand to invite him to skate together, and then his eyes caught on the small yen sign.

“Wha-what? Oh my god!” Yuuri sputtered, and this time his heart palpitations felt closer to a heart attack. Yuuko and Takeshi had chipped in together before to buy him posters of Viktor, but they had always been small-sized and printed on what he assumed was regular poster paper.

This poster was gigantic in comparison and had a good many more square footage and must have been printed on premium waterproof ink-preserving paper because that price was obscene.

“Oh, yeah, it's pretty expensive,” Yuurko chirped, “but the store has a guarantee that they'll fix any tears or discoloration or wrinkles from the usual wear and tear, and the guarantee is free for five years.” The stars in Yuuko's eyes made Yuuri feel a little better. She loved Viktor a lot too, and if she got any kind of vicarious joy from it, then maybe it was okay. But, jeez, that price!

Takeshi shrugged. “I don't mind helping to buy this. You just won Nationals after all; maybe this will help you to up your game; you'll put Hasetsu back on the map, I bet.”

Yuuri felt so touched that tears came to his eyes. Takeshi ruined the moment when he grabbed Yuuri in a playful headlock and boomed out a laugh as he ruffled Yuuri's hair ceaselessly. “It's just this once though, and I expect a present for my own birthday that's just as hardcore!”

 

Phichit agreed to walk down the promising side street for tourists that included a clothing boutique, an actual gift shop, a small cafe, a sweets shop, and a small park in the bend of the u-shape. They were heading for the gift shop when Phichit stopped Yuuri and pointed out, “Hey, Yuuri, you have a hole in your shirt. That's really big; I wonder when that happened.”

Clueless, Yuuri pulled his sleeve away from his arm and examined the edges of the hole and realized that it was due to the seams of the sleeve pulling away from each other. That was the downside to buying clothes in the clearance section; they might come with flaws that remained hidden until later.

“Come on,” Phichit decided. “There's a clothing store right there. Talk about good luck.”

Yuuri balked at the thought of buying an overpriced shirt in the heart of New York City. “It's bound to be pricey. I can manage with the hole; I'm sure our hotel room will have a miniature sewing kit that I can use.”

Phichit shook his head. “Yuuri, you're thinking about hotel rooms in Asian countries. The chances of a sewing kit in an American hotel aren't that high.”

Defeated, Yuuri surrendered to the fact that he had packed simply by just including enough clothes for a two-night and three-day stay, and he wasn't sure how long this shirt would last.

Yuuri had assumed that he would quickly pick out a shirt to try on and buy while Phichit continued to shop for souvenirs to gift their family and friends, but Phichit just followed him into the store and began browsing the racks of clothes with him.

While Yuuri rifled through the shirts, the various 15%, 20%, and 30% off signs comforted him and gave him hope that his wallet wouldn't be too badly damaged by the impromptu shopping trip.

Yuuri picked his way though two racks in the time it took for Phichit, who had cheerfully and loudly stopped every so often to flash ugly and garish shirts at Yuuri, to finish looking at one rack. Phichit handed his one find to Yuuri, a grey turtleneck that looked comfy and warm enough to mitigate the chill of New York's winds.

Yuuri made his way to the small dressing room in the back. He showed his choices to the attendant who quickly checked the number of items before issuing him a plastic card labeled with a 3.

“Oh, I'm with him,” Phichit explained, pointing at Yuuri and sifting through the accessories laid out on a nearby table outside the dressing room.

Yuuri tried on the turtleneck first but found that the size must have been mislabeled because the long collar fell open too widely around his neck. Yuuri made a face before pulling on another shirt, this one a long-sleeved formal shirt with a texture that had felt nice against his hand.

This shirt wrapped smoothly around his shoulders, hugged his torso, and stopped above his hips in a tapered fit. Yuuri looked at himself in the small mirror hanging from the stall door and the “Wow” that slipped out was filled with happy surprise.

He had regretfully indulged in an eating binge after a particularly bad anxiety attack last month, and the huge amounts of extra calories had given him a small pudge that he had been steadily reducing since.

Something about the cut of the black shirt (maybe the color really is slimming?) outlined his body in a way that highlighted the flat strong muscles and overlooked the weird lumps and curves from his fluctuating weight.

Yuuri almost could have whistled at himself. He looked damn hot! He stood farther back from the mirror and turned himself this way and that to get the full effect and to see if he really looked as good as he first thought. That was when he noticed that the shirt wasn't actually black; it might have been a very dark blue or a black shirt dyed to have deep blue undertones. Regardless, the color was as flattering as the cut.

But the thought struck him that this was a _sexy_ shirt, a date night shirt, and when would he even be going on a date? He had no boyfriend and couldn't see himself with one in the near future. A small part of Yuuri's mind always mulled unhappily over the vague worry that he would never find someone and never get the chance to find love and make a full life the way that his parents had together.

Yuuri prided himself on being a practical person who was raised to be financially responsible, and he just couldn't spend $29.99 on a shirt that he wasn't going to wear any time soon. It couldn't just live in his closet; he might as well not have it, and it would be a waste of close to thirty dollars. Yuuri briefly considered the idea of wearing the shirt on an everyday basis just like he would any of his shirts, but horrible anxious thoughts bombarded him: the shirt was _sexy_ , and that wasn't him; Yuuri didn't normally wear sexy clothes, so he would stand out a lot, and people would notice his body, oh god, and maybe they would think he wanted attention, and that would be mortifying, and maybe people would stare or even tell him to his face that he seemed so _different._

Yuuri regretfully put the beloved shirt back on the hanger and hung it on the same hook as the rejected turtleneck.

The third shirt he had brought in to try was a simple white dress shirt that he had picked off a table piled high. It was the type of moderately priced innocuous clothing that Yuuri bought to wear for interviews and sponsorship meetings. Celestino did eye his outfits sometimes with an expression that Phichit interpreted as “Didn't he wear that last time? Does he just have an outfit he keeps just for this?”

“Ciao Ciao wants to ask you if it's the same white shirt, but he doesn't want to ask and embarrass you and him in case they are different shirts,” Phichit had explained. Yuuri didn't agree at the time, but his sneaking suspicion was that Phichit was entirely on the mark.

Yuuri tried the white dress shirt on for size, and he didn't hate it; after all, he had five of these (Celestino and Phichit were wrong. It was not the same white shirt...well, technically).

Yuuri looked at the three shirts and briefly considered their prices and the pros and the cons. Phichit was waiting outside for him, and he couldn't make his friend wait when they had other shops to visit.

Yuuri placed the three hangers on the attendant's metal stand, and the woman once again checked the number of items with his card before smiling at him. “Go ahead and take the ones you want to keep.”

Yuuri nodded and took the white dress shirt.

“Yuuri,” Phichit sounded exaggeratedly disappointed, but the exasperation also there was genuine. “You already have way too many of these plain dress shirts. What was wrong with the other two—Oh, what's this one?”

Phichit held the blue-black formal shirt in front of Yuuri and whistled long and low. “Nice! I didn't see you get this one. You should get this one.”

Yuuri looked uncomfortably at the attendant who was watching them avidly since no other customers were seeking her attention. “I can't, Phichit. It's--” Yuuri fumbled for words that would convey his meaning without being explicit. “It's sexy,” he finally said, helpless to tell his friend the entire thought process that led to his boring choice.

“You're a sexy person,” Phichit said matter-of-factly and ignored Yuuri's shocked expression. “Wear it to a date, and you'll make sure the guy goes home with you.”

“...”

“Come on,” Phichit coaxed. “If you buy this shirt now, then you'll know exactly what to wear. You don't want to end up like Pedro. That guy goes through his whole closet every time he has a date, and he's never happy with what he chooses.”

Yuuri warred with himself. He did want the shirt and rather badly, and it was okay to treat yourself sometimes. He was in New York after all, and spending money on a luxury was what a tourist did. It was just this once; he wasn't going to be splurging on random fancy shirts every time he went to a clothing store.

And maybe he would have an occasion to wear that shirt. It was the maybe, the little hope flickering inside.

He bought the shirt.

 

“We're going on a date!” Viktor announced as soon as Yuuri opened their apartment door and staggered in, feeling exhausted from the day's practice.

“Huh?” Yuuri mumbled, struggling to take off his shoes and put them where they belong so he won't trip over them the next morning.

Viktor beamed at Yuuri in that gentle but decisive way that meant Yuuri was going to follow what his fiancé wanted. “We never got to go on a first date, Yuuri, and I have to insist that you treat me right and take me out before I marry you.”

Yuuri felt that there was something wrong with Viktor's reasoning, but he was too tired to argue, so he just nodded. “Okay, can we go out tomorrow? I'm really tired right now, Viktor, and I wouldn't be good company.”

Viktor hugged him tightly, and the firm press of that muscular body, along with the skin-warmed smell of cologne, made some other feelings besides exhaustion stir in Yuuri. “Of course, my love,” Viktor murmured against the shell of Yuuri's ear. “I look forward to being wined and dined by you once you get your strength up.”

Yuuri supposed that most people would be envious if their significant other could still put them into a lustful daze with just a touch and some soft words. And normally that daze would lead into an impassioned state that meant he and Viktor would be retiring early to their bedroom, but not to sleep. But Yuuri was just so tired, and he just mumbled a few disjointed words in response before heading off to bed.

Five hours later, Yuuri woke up in the middle of the night to stare indignantly at Viktor's sleeping face.

What did Viktor mean by saying that Yuuri never took him on a date? They had done that Netflix and chill thing numerous times! Granted, that was sort of an American thing, and maybe they mostly watched (and critiqued) skating videos together through the Youtube-Netflix connection, but they had gone out to eat at so many restaurants together. Yuuri didn't think there was a cafe or bistro that they hadn't eaten at; well, to be fair, perhaps a more high-end restaurant would be proper date material. They shared the onsen all the time, and they had even engaged in some surreptitious touching, but okay, that was sex, not dating...

Yuuri had been ready to shake Viktor awake and remonstrance with him, but now Yuuri's 4:00 AM-fogged brain wasn't sure what exactly he had been going to say.

Barcelona! Yuuri sat up and poked Viktor's shoulder blade. “Mmm, what are you doing, Yuuri? It's too early to get up. Oh!” Viktor's closed eyes and mouth curled into a sly smile, and he pulled Yuuri into his chest. “Do you want to have sex?”

The purr in Viktor's voice hit Yuuri low in his gut, and he started to slide his hand down Viktor's shoulder to some place more intimate, but responsible Yuuri struck again.

“You're not counting Barcelona?” Yuuri demanded before his cock could take over and start something that would distract him from his hard-won brainstormings. “We took photos at all the sights, and we ate at a restaurant. You even insisted on paying for the dinner so hard that you smacked my hand when I touched the bill!”

“Why do you think it counts?” Viktor asked, sounding incredibly patient for a man woken up in the early hours and being interrogated for the continuation of a conversation from the night before. “We weren't on a date. We were being tourists; you asked me to show you around the city. It wasn't romantic—not until you gave me your ring.” He dropped a look down at the golden gleam that fought the dark for dominance with streetlights from their half-open curtain shining in.

Yuuri opened his mouth to protest before shutting it sheepishly. He had to admit that what Viktor said was not untrue. He had still been sorting out all the complicated emotions and thoughts that Viktor stirred within him, and Viktor had said nothing to him about it, but Yuuri knew that Viktor's happiness in receiving his ring was a little marred by Yuuri chickening out and calling it a good luck charm.

Viktor was always willing to try and meet Yuuri where he's at, but Viktor wanted, needed, Yuuri to be upfront and clear about his love.

“I'm sorry, Viktor,” Yuuri finally said. “I didn't understand that you felt like you were missing something.” He stroked Viktor's face and then curled his hand around that sharp jaw. He kissed the soft expressive mouth again and again until Viktor's brow was smooth again, and he was gasping in pleasure and angling his neck so that Yuuri could place some kisses there.

“You feel so good, Yuuri,” Viktor moaned, eyes opening and closing in half-lidded bliss as Yuuri continued to cradle his fiancé's face with one hand and wrapped his other hand around the rising cock brushing his hip.

“I'm going to make you feel good right now,” Yuuri whispered back, tongue flicking out to wet the delicate skin of Viktor's collarbone before he began to suck some marks all across and then down to the left pectoral. Viktor moaned again, but his eyes were sharp and focused on Yuuri's, and he was listening intently. “Then I'm going to take you out tomorrow and make you feel really, really good.”

Viktor shivered from head to toe, and he tried to wrap his hand around Yuuri's to increase the pace, but Yuuri decided that he wanted to keep exploring with his mouth farther down.

Viktor's hips twisted more and more against their bedsheets as Yuuri kissed his mouth again and then laid kiss after kiss all the way to the juncture of his thighs. Then Viktor finally stilled his hips, afraid of moving too abruptly and possibly hitting Yuuri with a knee.

So considerate. Yuuri lay himself across one long leg and used a hand to press down the other, giving that limb a caress first, before he took Viktor's cock into his mouth and began to lick all around.

Yuuri listened to Viktor's long pleasured groan once they hit the climax, and yup, the heart palpitations are still here to stay.

 

It was almost time to leave. Yuuri finished his shower and then stood in the bathroom while he looked into the mirror and tried to comb back his hair with gel. A few strands still fell onto his forehead despite his best efforts, but Viktor gave him the impression that the slightly disheveled look did it for him, so Yuuri wasn't too bothered.

It took only a few minutes for Yuuri to find the formal shirt that he had bought in New York City two years ago when he and Phichit had taken a break before trying their second attempt at the Grand Prix.

Yuuri was relieved to see that the shirt fit just as beautifully as he remembered, and he smoothed the cloth down over his chest and adjusted the shoulders so that the collar matched the hollow of his throat. He rifled through the closet for a suitable pair of pants and finally settled on a pair that he remembers having ironed a few weeks back.

“Yuuri, I'm back!” Viktor called out. “We'll need to bring back a treat for Makkachin. She didn't look too happy with me when I left her with Anton this time.”

Yuuri opened the bedroom door to meet his fiancé, and he smirked at Viktor's open-mouthed expression even as he felt the blush tinting his cheeks.

“Oh, Yuuri!” Viktor sounded breathless, and the way that he dragged his eyes up and down Yuuri's body made it clear that Viktor greatly appreciated the shirt that Yuuri had been so reluctant to buy. “You look wonderful,” Viktor said, and his low tone helped Yuuri's brain start thinking about how their night was going to end.

“I wasn't going to buy this at first,” Yuuri admitted, and he's not sure why he's telling Viktor this, but somehow it seems important.

“I didn't think I would ever need to wear it, but,” Yuuri trailed off and would have stopped there, but Viktor's eyes were all encompassing and trained on his. “I'll tell you the whole story at dinner,” Yuuri offered, and he realized that maybe it was the way that he could begin to explain that Viktor didn't just get his “l” words from Yuuri; it was the other way around too.

Later, sitting on the edge of their bed and moving back to give Viktor space to join him, Yuuri thought that Viktor probably understood, and he watched his fiancé's deft fingers as they carefully slipped each button out of its hole. He angled his elbows and raised his arms straight to let Viktor pull the shirt off him and drape it over a nearby chair, and then he put a hand behind Viktor's back to bring him closer and closer until their bodies were pressed so sweetly and tightly together, and Viktor was arousingly heavy on top of him, and they could rock each other slowly and steadily to orgasm.

 

 


End file.
